


Primeless

by PAW_07



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Rescue Bots, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Child Abandonment, Corruption, Ghost Optimus Prime, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural Elements, The Matrix of Leadership's a Stalker, Visions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:59:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8134576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PAW_07/pseuds/PAW_07
Summary: Smokescreen never told anyone that he had almost been a Prime, especially after Optimus sacrificed himself. That could have been him. The Matrix is a dogging thing though. It came back. Smokescreen doesn't want the burden, Bee thinks he's going crazy and the Rescue Bots find themselves surprisingly caught in the middle. Basically, how RID should have been with a dash of Rescue Bots.





	1. Primeless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Insecuriosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insecuriosity/gifts).



A dead king deep in his crypt,

resting and rotting and weary,

Searches and searches for a fair heir.

Never finding his query.

...

Smokescreen hated himself in the dark of the night after Prime had sacrificed himself.

Mind you, he didn’t hate himself in the same way Arcee or Bumblebee did. Or like any of the other mechs that had watched the great Prime drive into the heart of the world with its gaping maw. No, his hatred was towards himself and his selfishness. It was now a secret hate he hid deep down in the depths of his spark where dark things dared to bloom. It was a secret that none had known except for probably the Prime himself.

For, Smokescreen was _glad_. He was _glad_ that Optimus was deactivated because that thing in Optimus’ chest, the Matrix, had gone with him. It was dust as far as he was concerned.

He would never have to be a Prime. He would never have to suffer like Optimus did. He could live for himself and not for the weight of that crystal omen.

He could be whatever, whoever he choose.

And so he hated himself for his thankfulness. Optimus Prime was a great figure. A kind figure, full of sacrifice and servitude to all. Just like a Prime was supposed to be … made to be. _Forced_ to be.

He knew Optimus hadn't meant it. Hadn't meant to start telling Smokescreen about the burdens of a Prime orns before his death. It was just that Prime saw the Matrix's next carrier, the next Prime, even though Smokescreen just wanted to be seen as a soldier, a friend … a youngling like hew was.

He didn't want to be forced into some shape. He didn't want his dreams molded entirely by the needs of others. He was young. He was vibrant. He … had never wanted to be a Prime. If he had wanted it. He would have taken the Matrix the first time Optimus requested he claim it, bloodied and battered.

And so … he was glad there were no more Primes.

And in shame, he wept that night with the others and their survivor’s guilt, but a deep dark part of him, a selfish part of him, felt it would have been more fitting if he had laughed. It was best he hadn't become a Prime. He wasn't a good enough mech for it.

…

And so time passed, the stars slowly drifting farther and farther apart in the voids endlessness.

In truth, it was very little time in comparison to the long lives of Cybertronians. It was enough time though for a fledgling of a government to start, the first cities starting to glimmer in the night. The metal world was gradually moving away from Martial Law upheld by Ultra Magnus and into something more akin for civilians … and the new sparks that were slowly growing from the earth like so many heads of metallic cabbage around the Well of Allsparks.

The Cabbage Patch Kids would have been proud.

Two generations had risen so far, young mechs now easily outnumbering the older survivors three to one. It was a city of the youth, of new ideas, new thoughts, and new ecstatic joys to stain the world with their youthful color.

Most would think it was their world now. A new world that would not be held down by the governments of the older generation nor by their hate or wanting. How wrong they were. Senators, High Class, Religious fanatics all seemed to pull themselves out of the inky blackness of space, trying to press their wants onto the youth. It was almost terrifing to see the very things that had caused their world to fall into ruin, welcomed back so wantonly.

If Optimus Prime was still alive he would have been aghast.

Most just thought he was rolling over in his grave. This war, his sacrifice, slowly becoming meaningless.

Not that most mechs dared voice their thoughts. Some monster had brought back the practice of emputara and t-cog removal … and slavery coding were rearing their ugly heads.

Not to mention that the young war models were also finding out that they were being held in prejudice for acts that were not their own, caused by a generation they had never known. Many were just sparked and had no idea what the word Decepticon even meant.

A dark seed had taken root in this new world.

Yet, in a grey area near the Well where no spark could grab hold and bloom, something different started to grow. At first glance, a mech might not have thought much of it. It just looked like the first bud of another hot spot. But it didn’t keep that orb like disposition. It rose up like a twisted tower, metallic like spires reaching for the sky and its aloft stars. It, rising in height, was announcing itself. It had returned.

And so mechs and femmes watched with a disposition of curiosity and undertones of fear. What was this? What was this abnormality in their new blooming world? Was it a new nightmare? A new terror in the night to pluck the young and kind from the world?

The day it bloomed open though … there was only one spark filled with fear. One spark that shirked back at the announcement.

For the Matrix had returned and it was looking for a new barer. In fact, unknown to anyone, Smokescreen sat up from recharge in fear, his spark pulsing for it had heard the call. The call to be the next Prime … for the Matrix had chosen him orns ago in a cave where a good Prime lie dying.

Smokescreen had kept the Matrix at bay that day, kept the current barer -Optimus- alive and well, but the Matrix did not forget him. No, it never forgets. It is patient. It can wait. And so it called again for its new host to come and claim its responsibility.

The young mech could only shiver, pulling his knees into his chest. No. No. He would not go.

Let this world be _Primeless_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a discussion with Insecuriosity in the notes of A Hot Red Tide about RID and then bam, this plot bunny hit me. Now that I am done with the short story The Price of a Glitch, I figured I'd start on my next short multi-chapter. I'm planning on 7 chapters. Hopefully, it doesn't go over that … though it probably will. >.>


	2. A Reminder of Burdens

“You are not yanking this old mech's chain. You aren't honestly going to proposition that a Hall of Primes is more important than a medical school, are yah?” said Ironhide, trying to hide his limp. He knew he should go to a medic for it, but they suddenly were a scarce commodity. And oddity he would look into if he had the _fraggen_ time. If Forthright was leading him on, wasting his time, he was going to punch the mech in his stoic face.

Forthright, one of the few surviving Priests of Primus, just kept walking down the hall in a rushed pace, his white paint seeming bleached compared to the dingy blank halls. The zealot, as he was called by pretty much every mech that had the unfortunately circumstance to meet him, was still angry one of the first building reconstructed hadn't been the Hall of Primus. A temple to the Primes and the Matrix.

It was a building meant to house the Prime in a religious manner and the Matrix whenever a new barer had to be chosen. _Apparently_ , a structure like that wasn't needed anymore. The Matrix was gone. Lost with the great Optimus Prime, the last of the Primes. Or so everyone else thought. But Forthright knew better. His prayers had been answered.

“No. And why would a Prime's Guard need chains?” said Forthright in all seriousness. The human jargon lost to him.

Ironhide's spark pulsed painful at the reminder. Yes, he had been marked as a Prime's Guard the moment he was sparked. Not too surprising. There were a fair number of mechs with helm glyphs that had been chosen to serve the Primes in life. Such a title was useless now though. He had no Prime to guard, to serve faithfully. He was a relic in this new world.

He hadn't even gotten to serve Optimus Prime in the end. He had been sent with the last of the Priests, assigned to guard them.

What a folly that had been.

Then again, perhaps it was for the best there were to be no more Primes. The Senate had been restrictive with the Matrix for countless generations. Instead of a mech or femme worthy of the Matrix's burden coming to present themselves and see if they were chosen, only the dim witted and power hungry were allowed in the Hall of Primus to stand before the Matrix. Ironhide personally felt the Matrix just made do with what it had, choosing the best of the worst that stood before it. Plus, given the direction the new world was heading, the Prime's cycles would have continued to degrade into poorer and poorer candidates.

Optimus Prime had been a fluke, the Senate too scattered to stop a good candidate from coming forward.

It was for the best that there were no more Primes … as much as those words hurt.

“We really don't need a building right now with a Matrix display, Forthright. A museum will be built for the young-bots. No question there, but it's not like the Matrix exists any … oh. _Oh_ … Sweet Prima.”

Flinging a door open, EM field full of irritation, the white mech waved his hands at a table in the middle of a room, a group of young-spark collectors all looking nervous from their days pick. For, on the table, was the Allspark, shining brightly as it waited for a chosen to come and claim it.

“This is why we need a new building! It was in that strange growing tower by the Well. We need a Hall of Primes,” said Forthright with a huff.

“Now … ain't that something,” said Ironhide, not knowing what else to say. Seems his life as a Prime's Guard wasn't over. It had just started anew. Now, he just had to find a Prime to fit the deal … Hopefully before the new Senate tried to restrict what mechs presented themselves before it. He just hoped the poor fragger was up the the challenge. This new world .. was not going to be kind. It was wild and it would certainly take a sturdy powerful mech to tame it.

That is, if the new world didn't devour him first.

…

Smokescreen rolled over, his chassis hurting. He grunted and tried to offline his optics again. He didn't know when exactly the ache had started. In honestly reminded him of the day he had been alone with Optimus, his spark in a panic and trembling, thinking he was going to watch the great Optimus Prime offline. Luckily, that day had never come … at least not with him as an only witness.

Nonetheless, if this kept up. He would have to go see a medic.

That was something he wasn't looking forward to either. Ratchet … was gone. Apparently he left a note, stating he had to find himself, but personally Smokescreen was reluctant to believe that. The medic had been so angry, vocal in the forming government, especially about the rights of right for newly onlined war models. He had especially been adamant about the new Senate trying to pass a registration act. They wanted all new war models to register and be assigned to their home and occupation.

So, why would he just leave like that? No mech should be assigned their place in this world purely on the basis of what form the Well gave them. It was just … wrong.

But who was he to talk, given how long he was in status, he had no room to speak. He was practically a new-spark himself. What did he know of politics?

Regardless, he still had a medical issue and he didn't know any medics. Not even Knock Out. For some reason … he had stopped practicing medicine. He wouldn't say why, but Smokescreen personally knew the mech had started collecting credits for a ship oddly enough. It was like he wanted to get off planet, like he was worried about something. Didn't he want to wait and see if Breakdown's spark would be reborn like he had whispered so many orns ago?

Personally, Smokescreen felt it had something to do with the worried look seemingly always plastered on Knock Out's usually dynamic face plates. It was just wrong. It was as if something was beating him down and without Breakdown there to fight his battles … he now had to run.

Smokescreen wouldn't be surprised if, in a few vorns, more medics went missing to the stars. But … what was chasing them all off?

Sighing, unable to recharge now due to his heavy thoughts, Smokescreen nearly jumped out of his armor when his berth-room door suddenly slid open, Bumblebee rushing in without even knocking. “Smokescreen! You would believe what just happen! Its just, I can't even! I can't believe it!”

Having nearly fallen off of his berth, his surprised EM field being nearly drowned in Bumblebee's (his current roommate) excited EM field, Smokescreen sat up awkwardly. “What? What is it? Did you get a promotion with the enforcers? Are you making investigator?”

Smokescreen still didn't understand why Bumblebee had just accepted the placement. The Senate had basically assigned him, a war hero, slayer of Megatron, to traffic duty. Ultra Magnus had even offered him a position in his cabinet as the larger mech tried to wiggle his way into this new government, but Bee had obeyed the Senate without question. They said his model was built for public service of this type. Not politics. Yes, they had worded it enigmatically, but Smokescreen … he had seen Ultra Magnus' frown, his worry.

Bee deserved so much more. He deserved a place in this new government. He would make a fine leader, but what would Smokescreen know about that? He … he didn't know anything about politics. He had been sheltered his whole existence. Alpha Trion and basically plucked him from the Well and had him train specifically to assist him in the Hall of Records. He had barely been allowed to have his cadet training.

Honestly, he only knew how to be Alpha Trion's assistance. He barely was a soldier. Then again, Alpha Trion made him feel like he could take on the world and then some.

He missed the old mech.

“What? No,” said Bee, his excitement nearly drowned out as a slightly pained feeling filled his EM field. Not that Smokescreen really got to analyze it. Bee pulled his field in close before anything could be discerned. “Guess what they found near the Well? It's amazing. It's … it's amazing. I can't even … I don't...”

Waving his hands, his CPU still trying to boot-up, Smokescreen chuckled, “Come on Bee, vent. What is it? Did they find a secret racing track? Please say secret racing track.”

“No better,” all but cried Bee, his excitement drowning the room again. “The Matrix. Its come back! The Priests of Primus have made a makeshift display out in the open so everybot can come and present themselves. The Matrix can pick a new Prime. Isn't that great?! We have to go. I know it probably won't pick us, but just seeing it returned is a sign. A sign of things turning for the better.”

Placing a hand on his chassis, the pull now painfully understood in his spark, that it hadn't been a nightmare he had had of the Matrix returning, Smokescreen pulled his EM field close so Bumblebee wouldn't be able to feel his terror.

Yeah … for the better of who?

He … he didn't want to be a Prime. Then again, he had just been the wrong bot in the right place. There was no reason for the Matrix to remember him. None at all. He wasn't a hero-bot. He had barely even been a soldier. When they spoke of the heroes at the end of the war, they didn't even list him. Maybe this time, the Matrix would choose right. He could see … he could see Bumblebee being a new Prime. He really, really could.

He wasn't cut out to the world's hero.

…

Standing in line, dozens upon dozens of bots having heard the news already, Smokescreen twitched and resisted the urge to run away when Bumblebee smiled at him again. Maybe he was just being paranoid. There was no way the Matrix would choose him. He had just been a stand in on Earth. There were so many better candidates on Cybertron. There was Ultra Magnus, Arcee, Bulkhead, Bumblebee … Knock Out?

Okay, almost anybot but him would be a better option. Definitely.

Maybe to just be safe he should hang back … farther back, farther. Like so the Priests of Primus wouldn't notice he was in line. Or anyone really. Yeah. Yeah. Just back away slow - _clunk_!

Smokescreen immediately cringed, having ran into someone … Someone who had a very, very familiar EM field. Slowly, he looked up, offering an awkward grin and a small wave, “Hiya, Magnus. How have you been?”

Face as composed as ever, the large mech nodded down at the younger mech, “I am well as is to be expected. Have you come to present yourself before the Matrix? To see if you are worthy of be its barer?”

Laughing nervously as he turned around to face the larger bot, Smokescreen shrugged, “Me? No, no. Bee. I mean as in Bumblebee is totally going to present himself. Not me. No. No. I don't want to waste anybots time. Not me. Nope.”

Magnus raised a metallic brow in question, his EM field pushing outward to tweek the younger bot's field. Smokescreen pulled his field close, not wanting the other mech to know the amounts of shame coursing through him.

As polite and stoic as ever, Ultra Magnus immediately pulled his field back in, understanding that Smokescreen didn't want to reveal his current feelings.

Looking up at the raised platform, a Prime's Guard on either side of the artifact. He watched an aged construction-bot present himself before the relic, falling onto one knee and bowing his helm, waiting. Generally, the Matrix started reacting the moment a prospective barer was in the area, glowing a little brighter. It would continue to glow and was rumored to tug at the prospective carrier's spark until they presented themselves before it. To present oneself, a mech only had to stand or bow before it, offering themselves. After all, the artifact had to be taken freely.

If accepted, it would rise off the pedestal and floated to its new barer, chest plates parting. In his long life, Magnus had never seen it himself. Then again, the past five Primes had been chosen in the secure sanctity of a Temple of Primus and only with the Senates chosen.

Here, out in the open, barely any buildings to offer up to the artifact, anybot could present themselves.

Anybot.

“No war models!” came a yell in the small crowed area, an enforcer pushing his way through mechs and not far from Magnus and Smokescreen, making the younger Autobot jump. “Who even let you over here!”

The enforcer, grabbing a young war model's arm, tugged, the poor thing looking confused. He had just been watching. He didn't even know what was going on.

“Don't even think about presenting yourself! The Matrix doesn't want trash like you!” said the enforcer, all but dragging the larger and obviously confused young-spark behind him.

“But I … I just wanted to see … what the group … was about,” tried to explain the war model, his voice so soft it was barely heard among the growing murmuring. Poor thing's EM field was also erratic and slowly growing terrified. Normal for young-bots that had yet to learn how to control their EM field.

Seeing the young war model, scruffy and yet new at the same time, terrified, Smokescreen felt he couldn't watch. He stepped forward in front of the enforcer's path, “Hey, let him go. He was just watching like everybot else. Plus, he should get to present himself like anybot else. Optimus Prime was technically a war model in the end. Anybot that fought in the war technically was if they had integrated weapons. He should get to stand before the Matrix.”

The guard sneered at him and Smokescreen's door-wings immediately dripped. Frag, what was he thinking? Standing up for a war model like that? This wasn't the war anymore. He didn't have the phase shifter to save his aft anymore.

Nonetheless, the young-spark, obviously just out of the Well, blinked at Smokescreen, confused. He was … he looked really beat up. Even his red optics were dull. They looked almost pink. Most young-sparks were taken to the youngling care center by young-spark collectors. There, they were given their first few meals, data packs, and usually an apprenticeship where a mech called a caretaker would watch over and house them for a few orns. This young-spark obviously had none of those things. Smokescreen had heard some protoforms were allowed to hatch out on their own around the Well. The collectors didn't catch them all … especially the war models. And, if that was true, if they hatched and wanted to survive, they had to make their way to a settlement and find work before their tank ran out.

He had just thought it was a nasty rumor, leaving young-sparks to fend for themselves, but seeing this young war model, optics dim and hungry, he now felt it wasn't a rumor.

How many war models had been left to starve in the barrens? How many had deactivated without even getting their basic information packs just because of the model the Well chose for them?

Honestly, the Well was doing its best. It was trying to balance the population. Personally, Smokescreen would compare it to an ant hive, like Raf had told him about. The hive had worker ants and soldier ants that protect the hive. War models were no different. They were meant to protect the planet.

How could no one else see that?

Hadn't their race been enslaved, eons ago? Yes, there weren't many mechs around that remembered it, but the hall of records recalled.

The enforcer, EM field now filled with a tinge of rage, suddenly backed up when Ultra Magnus stepped into the area, his EM field powerfully washing over everybot in the vicinity. It was full of control and strangely a calm steadiness meant to pull sparks back from violence. It was probably the reason he was given command of the Wreckers actually … It also probably calmed down young-bots. It was no secret, given how hard it was for young-sparks to control their EM field, that they had to have an older and more powerful spark tweek theirs. It basically calmed them down and leveled out their emotional responses. It was one of the many duties of a caretaker.

“Fine, whatever,” growled the enforcer, letting the war model's arm go as he stomped away.

Probably two kliks from sobbing, the young war model scrambled towards Smokescreen and Ultra Magnus, allowing his EM field to be tweeked and calmed by the larger bot.

“Calm yourself,” said Magnus instinctively to the slightly shorter war model, a hand being placed on his shoulder as Magnus manipulated the new-spark's EM field. Smokescreen didn't miss the critical gaze that was being placed on the young mech, Magnus likely documenting every scratch.

Now wanting to distract the young-spark from Ultra Magnus' obvious review, Smokescreen spoke to the war model. “Don't let that jerk-bot bother you. You can present yourself before the Matrix. Everyone should be able to.”

Plus, it also meant somebot might be picked instead him. Not that he was chosen or anything … he just worried too much. Yeah.

Looking ashamed but thankfully calming down, the war model admitted, “I don't even know what the Matrix is. I just … hoped I could find some work or energon around here. I-I came into the city and they said I need to work for energon and d-data packs. So, I am looking for those things, but I don't know where to start.”

Smokescreen immediately felt like he had been punched in the stomach as the young-spark looked at his peds in shame. He also didn't miss how Magnus' EM field flared for a moment in controlled anger. So … it wasn't a rumor. War models … were being left in the barrens … to starve.

Frag, did he have any energon on him? The bot had likely never even intaked before. That would explain the dim optics at least.

Magnus, reaching for a subspace, reacted before Smokescreen could even check his memory banks. Large hands were suddenly cupping the young-bots hands together, placing a full cube of energon into them. He even opened the corner carefully in case the new-spark didn't know how to open one. The young thing at first looked confused and then looked like he was about to start clicking in sadness. He wouldn't dare look away from the cube though, not even to rub his optics as they slowly started to gather fluids. It was like he was afraid it would disappear if he looked away.

Smokescreen threw a begging look at Magnus and Magnus threw a slightly awkward look back down at him. Neither one of them wanted a sobbing young-bot in the middle of a crowd. Magnus, thankfully, thought of something to say before Smokescreen blurted out something stupid.

“There you are than, young spark. Your first cube. Have a toast to Optimus Prime for luck. Then, after you have had your turn in presenting yourself, I will take you to the care center. No need to become upset,” said Magnus, trying his darnedest to smile reassuringly though he failed spectacularly.

That bot just wasn't meant to smile.

“Yeah, toasted to Optimus for luck. Even if the Matrix doesn't recognize you, toasting to him with your first cube will promise you a lucky life, for sure,” said Smokescreen reassuringly though he knew neither Magnus nor he believed that.

Finally looking away from the cube, optics still daring to spill cleanser, the young war model couldn't help but ask in curiosity, “Who is Optimus Prime, by the way? Y-you've mentioned him twice. Is he important?”

Nodding, still starstruck by Optimus despite his shame, Smokescreen added, “Yes, he was the last Prime. He ended the war and he also threw himself into the Well of Sparks for you, all of us, so the world could be renewed.'

Playing with the cover on the cube like he was trying to figure it out, the young-spark blinked his red optics on and off at Smokescreen in confusion, his EM field baffled, “He … offlined for me? Are you sure? I didn't … I didn't think anyone cared what happened to me.”

Smokescreen … hadn't been able to say anything after that, a smile just struggling to form on his face. What had become of their new world? Who would just leave a new-spark like this? Had the Matrix returned to fix all of this … or make it worse?

Magnus, turning to Smokescreen as if feeling his inner conflict, put a calming servo on his shoulder, words so heavy Smokescreen felt like he was going to be crushed under them.

“I can tell you do not want to present yourself before the Matrix, Smokescreen, but … we need all the good sparks we can get to stand before it. Optimus would have asked you to,” said Magnus, nodding his head before he turned his attention back to the new-spark and his needs, helping the new-spark take his first sip of energon.

Smokescreen, suddenly feeling hollow, placed a hand over his spark … feeling the sickening pull. Little did Ultra Magnus know … Optimus had already asked him to, but he didn't want it. He didn't. He didn't. _Didn't_! He wasn't good enough to stand before that sacred item of power.

He would never be as good as Optimus.

And yet he found his peds dragging him back in line behind Bumblebee, the yellow bot having not even noticed he was gone or about the sad tale of woe that had transpired not even a few stride-lengths behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, poor little war model! He needs Magnus huggles! Also, I'm sure he will show up again. I left him purposefully unnamed for a reason. Any suggestions of who he should be? :3
> 
> And, while you are at it, any suggestions for a second new-sparked Con? One preferably with rotaries?


	3. Test Your Metal

His peds were heavy. Then seemed to drag and stick to the ground. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be here. His EM field was actually pulled so close right now he was sure it was suffocating his spark.

Smokescreen wasn't made to be a Prime.

He was … young, inexperienced, and under educated due to the war. He was … he had just started to live. He didn't want to deactivate like Optimus.

He didn't want to fall.

The young mech gripped his hands into fists and bit his glossa. Yes, he doubted the Matrix would pick him, but what if it did? What then?

Another mech passed him, leaving the pedestal, the Matrix silent to his offering. And so … Smokescreen took another step forward. The young mech almost looked behind himself to ask if the mech behind him wanted to be in front of him, but it was too late, Bumblebee was turning to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. There was only one mech still in front of them.

It was Bee's turn next.

“Hey, hey, vent Smokescreen. I can practically feel how nervous you are. Just … be yourself. Okay?” said Bee, smiling warmly as he watched the latest mech rise from the pedestal. Denied. It was Bumblebee's turn. “The Matrix looks for one's true self. All you have to do is present yourself as you are. Whatever the Matrix decides is right. No need to be nervous.”

Swallowing, Smokescreen forced a smile, denta nearly grinding as he stating, “Yeah, you're right. It'll be fine.”

Not that he believed his own words, his spark hammering. Nonetheless, Bee nodded in encouragement as he turned to make his way up the steps, forcing Smokescreen to take a step closer. Immediately, the Matrix started to glow, both Smokescreen and Bumblebee stalling and gasping. In fact, everybot in the area was now whispering. The Matrix only glowed like that … when a bearer was near. Sometimes it did for other chosen positions, but usually the Prime would choose those lesser positions himself.

Bee was frozen on the steps, shock evident on his face. He couldn't believe it was glowing … for him.

Quickly noticing that the young mech was in shock, Ironhide stepped forward. Here he thought it was going to be an uneventful post as a Prime's Guard, guarding the Matrix during offerings, but he honestly would have done anything to get away from Forthright. Mech just wouldn't shut up about needing his Hall of Primes. He thought it was a disgrace that low castes, working bots, were presenting themselves to the Matrix. It was just deplorable.

Tuh. It took all that was in Ironhide not to punch the zealot in the face if only to shut him up.

Nonetheless, it seemed he would be seeing a new Prime today. Little yellow thing looked like a street cop. He was obviously petrified … and familiar. Likely from the war. Ironhide was an old bot. Not Alpha Trion old, but still up there. He was sure the name would come to him in a moment … not that it was going to remain the same much longer. Chuckling at the irony, Ironhide stepped forward, offering a hand up. “Come on kid. Present yourself to the Matrix and the Primes. I'm sure they are glad to see you.”

Swallowing, limbs almost shaking, Bumblebee smiled nervously and shakily took the offered hand. He could barely keep his plating from shaking as he got on one knee and bowed his helm. If felt like an eternity before the Matrix finally reacted, glowing brighter and brighter like a little sun. Bee could only think of Optimus and hearing his voice again though. Even if he had to suffer for it first. He knew the change to a Prime was going to be painful. Most Primes could barely stand after the shock and were forced to rest for a few days as the Prime's Guards kept him or her safe during recalibration.

He promised himself he wasn't going to scream though. Maybe whimper, but he wasn't going to scream.

Swallowing, plating now rattling, Bee whispered to himself, “Optimus, I'm ready.”

Then, instead of coming to greet Bee like the Matrix usually did when choosing a Prime, a bolt of light shot out of the Matrix and into Bee's chassis. It was like his circuits were on fire. His systems were so overcome that his new vocalizer actually glitched before he could even get a full scream out, the ex-scout being blasted to the ground below in a screech of metal as he slid a few yards away.

Bumblebee's physical pain did not compare to the mental agony that quickly accompanied the blast though. His mind was quickly overcome with voices. So many old voices. They were so full of authority and knowledge, bearing down on his firewalls and all but shattering them. His mind couldn't handle it, the brief connection with the Matrix. And soon the yellow bot was arching off the ground in agony. His hands were immediately on his helm as he regained the ability to screech, his new vocalizer nearly glitching with the strain of it.

The two guards, frozen on the spot for a klik in surprise, were suddenly running forward as they tried to stop Bee from gouging out his own optics or audios.

Wrestling with the withering bot, trying to get him to lie still as a medic forced his way through the crowd with some tranquilizer nanites ready, everybot was forced to listen to Bumblebee's screams. He was crying out, begging for the voices to stop and to make the images cease. His cries seemed to last forever, his pleas for it to stop, until the two guards managed to get his head and neck still. Nonetheless, Bee still clawed manically at the ground and the two mechs trying to hold him. The medic, new and barely trained, was near tears when he finally managed to got an injection in. The nanites seemed to take forever though as the two guard's tried to shush Bee and his field. In fact, the crowd was so silent that even Smokescreen could hear Bee's last desperate words over Ironhide's and Greywall's calming whispers.

“Optimus … please. Tell me what you want? What do you want?”

And so Smokescreen was too terrified of the Matrix to even look at it for that matter try to present himself. In fact, he promised himself he would never bear himself before it. And with that, he stumbled over to Bumblebee, whispering that it was okay as he held the nearly comatose mech's hand.

Somebot else, anybot else … could bear the weight of the Matrix.

He wasn't doing it. Not after it did this to Bumblebee.

…

“Bumblebee, please. You are not ready to go back to work yet,” said Smokescreen as he fretfully followed after the yellow peace keeper in their suite. “You are still … still ...”

“Seeing things?” seethed Bumblebee as he stomped past, trying to buff up his notably dull paint job . “Is that why you hid the cleansing room mirror? For that matter every shiny thing in the living suite?”

Smokescreen cringed back as his roommate snapped at him. The younger bot understood, that after the Matrix incident, that Bumblebee was not taking the publicity very well. The Priests of Primus had been dogging the yellow bot ever since. They were trying to get him to paint himself all white, put him in spiritual isolation, and basically force him into a vow of silence and religious servitude to the Matrix. They said if the Matrix spoke to him, he was bound to speak to only it and the other priests. No bot else until a Prime was chosen.

He could not serve in any other way.

Bumblebee had to change his comm links two times already due to the borderline harassment. He told them he just wanted to go to work … but every time he started to recover, regain his strength, he would have another … _fit_. He kept saying he was seeing things. Things like Optimus. He said the Last Prime was trying to tell him something.

The mental health mech, Rung, thought it was post traumatic stress from the war and was currently trying to get him into a treatment facility. It was hard to get into given that Bumblebee was a lot more stable than other mechs waiting, so he was on partial duty. Smokescreen honestly thought he should be on full berth rest, but Bee refused. He kept saying his legs were fine. Plus … Optimus wanted him to do something, and he couldn't figure that out at home.

Watching Smokescreen cringe away slightly from the harsh sting his field had sent out, Bee's door wings immediately drooped. He hadn't meant to do that.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Bumblebee quickly apologized, “I'm … sorry. For snapping. I mean... I just want the mirror back. How else am I supposed to wax myself? And, its just … I've been stressed with everything that is going on. That creepy Priest, Forthright, keeps getting my comm number and the Prime's Guards are hardly better. In fact, Forthright even went to my _chief_ and tried to get me reassigned to a position near the new building site for the Hall of Primes.”

Bee swallowed thickly for a moment at those words, looking away. Smokescreen immediately understood his EM field's shame and came forward, taking the cleansing rag. “I'll put the mirror back up Bee. It's just … I worry. You are my friend. Now, give me the rag and let me help you with that. You can't blame yourself for what the Senate and Priests are trying to do with the Matrix. What happened wasn't your fault.”

Frowning, allowing his EM field to be comforted by Smokescreen's field, Bee's shoulder's sagged as he gave the rag to Smokescreen. He tried not to flinch away as his friend started to assist him with his back.

It took a few kliks until Bumblebee was finally about to choked out, “But … no one has been allowed to offer themselves to the Matrix since … since my incident. And once they finish the Hall of Primes, no bot but the Senates' chosen will get a chance to do so. I … screwed up.”

Hands stalling on Bee's back, Smokescreen was ashamed because he was secretly glad that he couldn't present himself to the Matrix.

He was a horrible bot.

Offlining his optics in disgrace, Smokescreen leaned his helm against his friend's back with a soft click. He knew how Bee felt. Frag, he was tired.

And so they were both silent for a moment, taking comfort in each other's tortured presence before Bee slowly pulled away and turned to his younger friend. He couldn't help but place a comforting hand on Smokescreen's shoulder, just like Optimus always did. Smokescreen still didn't understand why Bee hadn't been chosen to be the next Prime. He was … he was perfect for it.

“Hey, hey. It's okay. We are both okay. I promise … I'll find a way for you to present yourself to the Matrix, Smokescreen. I know you really wanted to,” said Bee, already perking up, endless optimism seeming to drip off of his spark. “Now, apparently I'm getting a cadet today. Her name is Strongarm. The day should be interesting. I know they probably assigned her to keep an optic on me, but I'll show them. I'll turn that cadet into an officer Cybertron will be proud of.”

Forcing a smile, waving his friend off, Smokescreen choked in agreement, “Yeah … something Cybertron will be proud of.”

Something Optimus would be proud of … which he knew couldn't be him. If it didn't want Bumblebee, why would it want him? Instead of just throwing him back, the Matrix would probably kill him.

Frag, he was such a coward.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to get this out last week, but everyone keeps bidding for my time when I'm like, “Nooo, I just want to be alone with my computer! Being social burns!” Nonetheless, enjoy. Basically, this took place right before the first episode of RID.


	4. A Medic’s Bruises

It was quiet here. Even with the dulled roar of the engines and the soft barely notable hum of the status pods.

Fixit would admit he would never get used to it. The quiet. It was probably why he was so chatty … There was no one else to talk to. Sometimes there were the other mini-bots, but on deep space trips like this they rarely kept more than one or two of them online unless there was a problem.

And the Alchemor … had never had a problem.

Nothing major.

Nope.

… Okay, something was wrong. He just couldn't pinpoint it. It was just, where were they taking these prisoners to begin with? It wasn't Cybertron. That was for sure. So where? A prison planet? But that couldn't be right. There were no prisons this far out. Not Cybertronian at least and what of … the young ones?

Fixit stalled in the hall and stared at the bulky mech. He wouldn't think anything of it … the mech was shiny with new plating and he was balled up somewhat like he didn't know how to defend himself. He wasn't sneering or yelling or anything like t1he usual nature of other Cons.

He … looked scarred and confused.

The shiny mech wasn't the only one. There were a few of them. Their files were so vague some didn't even have a name.

Frowning at the thought, Fixit investigated further. The mech before him was named D-E2. Fixit slowly placed a servo on the glass, his words barely a whisper, “Do you even belong here?”

Fixit had never really questioned any of the Decepticons innocents in this place, but that purple badge looked new and that expression: it seemed more fitting for a scared young-spark.

Looking over his shoulder, as if checking to see if anybot was watching (which there weren't, he was the only one there), Fixit drew up to the control panel. What had this mech done? How old was he? What atrocities had he committed? Why … didn't he have a name?

Yet, before he could even investigate, the emergency lights started to blink. The pull of gravity suddenly slamming Fixit against a nearby wall. Even he could tell … the ship was being pulled down by gravity.

“Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” cried the small bot as he rushed to the command center.

Little did he knew, that no matter what he did. The ship was going down. No matter what he did.

It was always meant to.

…

“I … I'm sorry, Ultra Magnus. I didn't mean to,” said the young war model as they exited the youngling care center. It had been the third one they had tried in the last orn, but no center would accept him. Poor thing had been near tears when the director had denied Ultra Magnus' request to have him placed. The director had said the young-bot was too old.

Too old? Too old? The young-spark wasn't even two orns old. Well, Ultra Magnus wasn't completely sure, honestly, and that itself presented another issue. Silver Shield, the young mech's name, should have had his first medical exam days ago, especially since he noticed a small speech glitch. It could be nothing … it could be an underdeveloped system or a virus. A virus a young system, without any data disk downloads, wouldn't know how to defend against and given the young mech could speak (and had a Kaon accent at that), he got a download from somewhere.

Ultra Magnus prayed that the mech that gave Silver Shield his first speech upgrade did so with a data disk and not a direct uplink, but he doubted it. Even as light as it was, Kaon accents weren't exactly part of a general data disk. That was learned behavior … unless somebot passed along their private language packets. That was likely and he honestly shouldn't be surprised it was a Kaon accent. An old war model was probably the only one willing to give the young mech a language pack. 

“Shhh,” came the taller mech as he came forward and pulled the shorter mech into a light embrace, allowing the young mech to bury his helm into his chassis and leach onto his sturdy EM field. He … wasn't use to this much physical or EM contact, but younglings needed what they needed. And though it seemed everyone in this new world was denying the war model his basic needs, Magnus was not going to be one of them.

“There, young-spark. No need to be upset. You have done nothing wrong,” said Magnus, EM field wrestling with the younger bot's, trying to get him to calm down.

“B-but I need data disks, energon and a place to stay. I have none of those things. W-what am I supposed to do, Ultra Magnus?” said Silver Shield, struggling not to cry. He wanted to be like Magnus, strong and collected, but it was very hard for him. No one seemed to like him the way they did Magnus. He … just didn't understand it.

Patting the younger mech's earfins as he pulled away, Magnus struggled to smile, “Do not worry. You may continue to stay with me. Now, I'm a bit worried about the speech glitch you have. We are going to go see a medic today. Is that understood, young-bot?”

Still near tears, lower lip trying not to wobble in the way only young-sparks seemed able to, Silver Shield nodded. “Yes, sir.”

This time, when Ultra Magnus smiled, it was a little more genuine. He had barley know the war model an orn and already the young-bot was proving himself to be a good cadet. He would be a good soldier and servant to the people one day. Why no one else could see that, Ultra Magnus didn't understand, but he saw it. And he would do all that was in his power to make sure a youngling center saw it as well … even though they had been rejected by every single one in the growing city. He would find one even if he had to call all the surrounding living centers to find one. 

But right now he had to find a medic, which was easier said than done.

He had called several medics, trying to get an appointment in, but either they were too booked or … they were gone. He still couldn't believe that Ratchet had left the planet of his own free will. It seemed … so unlike him to just abandon his ideals. Ratchet had had several conversations with him, had even jokingly said he would become a senator if it defended all models, but now he was absent. It was concerning to say the least.

In the end, Ultra Magnus basically forced himself on the only available medic he could find.

Not that the medic was claiming to be one.

“No. I am not taking patients anymore. I'm, _apparently_ , not the right type of model to be a medic,” said Knock Out sarcastically as he walked away from the door of his makeshift clinic. Well, it had been a clinic. Apparently, he closed it orns ago. Why? Ultra Magnus wasn't sure … but he was going to find out. He wouldn't say he got an appointment with the ex-Con for ulterior motives, but he wasn't one to ignore an opportunity.

“Please, Knock Out. No other medic will see him and I am concerned. He got his first language pack from an up-link instead of a data disk. I am worried that a virus slipped in,” said Magnus, getting straight to the point.

Knockout, about to slam the door shut, seemed to fritz, “What?! What idiot would do that with a young spark?! That is the leading cause of life long glitches.”

Magnus merely shook his head, simply stating, “I do not know, but please see him. He hasn't had his first exam either and I need some data packs for him. Just the basics. I will purchase them, of course. Maybe if he has his first packs, I can place him immediately with a caretaker and an apprenticeship.”

Giving the larger mech a skeptical look, placing a hand on his hip, Knock Out made a show of glancing around Magnus' width and at the youngling in question. Immediately his optics softened, a sadness dripping in his spark before it was replaced with Knock Out's usual flare. “A shiny new war model … Well, come on in Maggie. Let’s see what we have.”

“It's Ultra Magnus,” corrected the large mech, straightening his spinal strut as he stepped forward, waving for the young mech to follow. “This is Silver Shield.”

Nodding, waving the young mech to a makeshift berth, Knock Out asked for him to lie down. He immediately started a berth scan, plugging the youngling into the medical berth. Soon, Silver Shield was forced into a light shut down, Knockout walking towards his partially packed supplies to look for data disks.

Seeing this as an opportunity for some answers, like where all the medics were going, Magnus followed after and asked carefully, “I see you are packing up your supplies. May I inquire as to where you are going, Knock Out? Cybertron needs medics. And though your education might have been slightly unorthodox, even I can't help but recognize your skill. We need medics like you to take on the young sparks, to educate. Why would you leave?”

Looking up from his storage containers, frowning, Knock Out's long fingers tapped against the container for a moment in thought. He looked at the young silver mech on the berth, searching for the right words. It had been a struggle lately to keep up his usual blaze, but Knock Out considered himself a wonderful actor. His words were cryptic, but he got the point across painfully, “You should be glad he didn't end up in a care center. You should be glad … he is safer never going there.”

Then, for added effect, Knock Out turned around, searching his storage containers. He didn’t know where everything was … but Breakdown would have known. He always knew. At that moment Knock Out refused to allow his EM field to flash in agony. He had lost a lot in the war. He would survive. He always did.

Plating perking up, Magnus drew closer, suddenly trapping the medic in his storage corner. The medic nearly ran into the blue mech as he turned around, head forced to look up. “I know you have quite a grill to show off, but honestly Maggie … you’re a little too close.”

Magnus, noting just how nervous Knock Out looked, his plating and EM field pulled too close, immediately drew back. Now, that was very unlike Knock Out to seem nervous or trapped. He dripped in charisma and self-importance. Someone crowding his space didn't put him off. He was able to withstand Megatron's coarse EM field after all. Yet, here was this once vibrant medic … running away scared.

He had no soft spot for the ex-Con, but Optimus had offered Knock Out a chance. He had seen something in the little medic that Ultra Magnus could not. So, field far to use to being plucked at and offering comfort, Magnus reached out with his field, only to have it harshly snapped at.

“Stop. I don’t want your comfort,” growled Knock Out, rearing back, denta bared slightly. It only lasted a moment though, before the red racer returned with his usual fan fair. “I’m not a young-spark, Ultra Magnus. I don't need to be mother henned. So don’t touch my EM field again.”

Knock Out then regained his mental footing and brushed past the larger mech as if all this meant nothing to him.

Hands folding behind his back, Magnus regained a professional distance. “I apologize, but that statement is concerning. Please, elaborate.”

Walking around to the berth, pretending not to hear Ultra Magnus’ question, the medic pulled up a holo-screen and reviewed the gathering results.

“Knock Out, please,” asked Magnus again, walking over to the berth.

Knock Out merely flashed a wicked smile and continued to ignore him as if this was a game. He even moved farther around the berth and away from the larger frame, his plates trying not to pull close. He was obviously upset about something and was trying to keep himself in check. Instead, he started checking the young-spark’s knee joints, lifting up the plating slightly to tweek on thing or another. He then moved to the next leg on the other side as Ultra Magnus pressed again.

“Please Knock Out, don’t ignore me. Something is obviously wrong with the medics … and the youngling care centers. I need to know what.”

Knees done, the medic moved to the hip joints, the youngling’s whole form jolting on the berth as a whine escaped his vocals. Knock Out didn’t comment though as he moved back to the chassis, the opposite side from the hulking blue mech. He merely ignored the question and whispered for the youngling to open his chassis. Ultra Magnus didn’t even look at the spark, more than use to the EM field it gave off, as Knock Out examed the pulsing little orb. His gaze was entirely on Knock Out, light playing all over the medic’s cherry red features.

“Knock Out … answer me.”

Knock Out, whispering something to himself, reluctantly closed the chassis, patting the metal slightly before he moved back to the berth’s readings.

“Knock Out-”

“What?! What?!” finally snapped Knock Out, his EM field spreading over the room like a burning wave of inner agony and frustration, the youngling cringing away from the churning emotions while Ultra Magnus stood fast. “What do you want me to say Ultra Magnus? Do you want me to frighten the young spark?! Should I tell him what’s happening to war models in the youngling care centers? How they are being crippled and chipped? How they are being sent, uneducated to work stations? Some can’t even talk in anything but binary code! Some, hungry and scared, have even been sent to prison ships! Is that what you want to hear!”

Knock Out’s EM field was now desperate, churning like waves of hot plasma. “I am not staying on this planet another orn to watch this happen. I won’t be chipped and forced into a position I don’t want, that I fought a millennium against. I won’t stand over young war models and chip them! I will not cripple their CPUs with insufficient programing disks so they are stupid and easier to control! I won’t be the medic that voluntarily is a part of that. _I would rather not be a medic at all_.”

His next words were a whisper, Knock Out unable to look Ultra Magnus in the optic as he pulled his hands close towards his chassis as if protecting the delicate servos. For the first time, Ultra Magnus noticed dents on the wrists. Had somebot grabbed Knock Out? Knock Out was no push over, but if his hands were threatened …

“I’d rather not be a medic at all,” came a soft confession. “At least not on this planet. I’m leaving. I thought I could come back, that this new world was a new start for all of us. Well, I was wrong. I am not welcome. A lot of us aren’t. I’m leaving while I can.”

Ultra Magnus was aghast, his words lost as the room was still, silent. No one said anything. The young spark looked like he was ready to crawl off the berth and run for it. Knock Out wouldn’t even look the terrified young spark in the optic. Knock Out was obviously ashamed, like a victim was ashamed of being a victim. That expression looked wrong on Knock Out, but all Ultra Magnus could do was open his mouth, close it, and then open it again. What could he say to that?

He didn’t get time to answer the outburst though, to digest Knock Out’s obvious sorrow and rage, when he got an emergency link.

Looking at the cherry red speedster and the terrified young spark that was struggling to keep it together, he answered the comm. “This is Ultra Magnus? What is the emergency?”

“Ultra Magnus! Thank Primus you answered. Please, you have to talk some sense into the local enforcers! They are saying Bumblebee … that Bee … is a fugitive! That he illegally used a space bridge and forcibly took two young-sparks with him! What? I don’t even … this is crazy!”

Magnus sighed, form wilting somewhat. He would take a coined phrase from Agent Fowler in this case. When it rains, it pours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness. I was going to try an update every two weeks, but hapless Knock Out is hard to write! He’s supposed to be strong, smug and smarmy. I hoped I pulled it off because I am not rewriting this chapter again. XD


	5. A Question of Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the repost. It didn't seem to update properly.

“Hey! Hey, stop touching that!” said Smokescreen as he followed multiple enforcers around his habitation suite. Not that any of the mechs paid him any mind. He sighed, watching them throw things on the floor. Really, what were they expecting to find? A Decepticon symbol painted on the wall?

“Where is Ultra Magnus when you need him?” grumbled the mech as he watched his collection of Earth hubcaps topple over. He cringed at the screeching noise. He … he hated this. This helplessness! He had spent the last few months of the war with Optimus Prime! He deserved respect! Bee really deserved respect.

Suddenly, a nagging thought clung to his mind like a tick, nearly making the young mech dizzy, ‘ _If you were a Prime_ …’

He immediately banished the thought. He had seen what the Matrix had done to Bumblebee. It hadn’t rewarded him for his courage and fearlessness, for being the slayer of Megatron. It had tried to drive him mad! For all he knew, it had. Smokescreen didn’t want to believe it, but why else would Bumblebee go through an illegal space bridge jump? To Earth no less?

A glint of white dragged Smokescreen from his thoughts, and he immediately looked up with a cringe. Great. Just fantastic. It was that zealot that kept bothering Bumblebee and the Prime’s guard. What were they doing here? Were they the reason for Bumblebee’s space bridge jump? Was he trying to get away from them? Honestly, who could blame him with stalkers like that? Ironhide was okay, but the priest … it was like he peered into your spark whenever you looked at him.

It was like he knew of Smokescreen’s unwanted destiny.

Smokescreen tried not to recoil as Forthright met his optics. The gaze felt like it pierced his spark, bleeding out his very essence. It was like he wanted to eat him up. The bulky Prime’s Guard seemed to look neutral at least, even with all his weapons. Where had an old mech like that been when they were half starving on Earth? Firepower like that would have been invaluable.

He quickly shook off his thought. They never actually starved, but it was close sometimes. Prime … always made sure there was just enough. He was a good mech. Frag. Why had he tried to choose Smokescreen for the position of Prime? He understood that he was all that was there at the time, but … what about now? Bee … he would have made a great Prime.

“Smokescreen, I take it?” said Forthright as he came forward, the chaos of the enforcers destroying the apartment completely ignored. “I am Fortright, the head of the Priests of Primus. You are Bumblebee’s roommate and battle brother, correct?”

Frowning, part of him wanted to stand as far as he could from the priest, but somehow Smokescreen kept his ground. Solemnly, he nodded. “I am. What does that matter to you?”

Nodding in part, acting like this was all below him, the white mech replied, “Little. It’s just that your statement may be all that protects Bumblebee in these coming orns. So it is important that you are completely truthful with me. For, as a Priest of Primus, I have the power to do something about this situation.”

“My statement?” said Smokescreen, confusion in his vocals. “I don’t understand-”

Forthright, about to open his intake, was interrupted by a daunting voice in the hall, “I need to speak to the current tenant.”

Even with his slow loss in status, Ultra Magnus was still an imposing figure, a symbol of order and unwavering justice. Even though many of the new officers had received their last data disk to barely be considered an adult citizen, most knew Magnus’ visage. Who were they to deny the figure of Magnus? And so they parted like the Red Sea.

Nodding as they parted out of his way, the blue mech towered over all the figures in the room like a great old tree. Smokescreen didn’t know if he should be thankful or hysterical when the large mech finally came to his side. He settled for the cooler looking one, his EM field dripping in gratitude. Despite fighting in a war, he knew little of a citizen’s life … like how to weave amongst strained politics.

“Smokescreen, I have come to assist you. Now what is happening?” said the large mech, his optics tilting and looking around the room. The shorter mech immediately cringed when he noted that Magnus was stalling and staring at the Earth memorabilia longer than he should have. He just remembered … Magnus hadn’t wanted them to bring anything back without proper decontamination, which they hadn’t had the resources for at the time.

Not that that really stopped anyone.

He laughed nervously as the older mech looked down at him, a disappointed glint in his optics.

“Well, Ultra Magnus,” said Forthright, gaining the large mech’s gaze. “We were about to get a statement from Smokescreen. What he says will determine if this predicament will fall into the religious sector of our forming government or under the legal side. As you probably have already heard, Bumblebee has illegally snuck into a restricted area, despite the guards trying to remove him, and unlawfully used a space bridge to Earth. As you know, due to dark energon’s presence, it is a restricted planet. To top it off, he even took two young sparks with him without a caretaker's consent.”

“And let’s not forget the prison ship that crashed there about the same time,” entered a dark gray and yellow mech, short in stature but twice as bulky. The symbol for the new Senate’s private police was boldly displayed on his shoulder. “It has been brought into question if he took the ship down to try and rescue his Decepticon buddies. He probably bot-napped the two young sparks so he could have hostages … Not that we can follow after. For some unknown reason, the space bridge won’t come back online.”

Ultra Magnus and Smokescreen, despite being stunned into silence at the accusation, surprisingly didn’t beat Forthright to the defensive line. “As I am sure you have been informed, Gear Strip, that space bridge had just been a display before Bumblebee onlined it.”

The mech crossed his arms and looked at the religious powerhouse. “Let me guess, you think it was a miracle and not sabotage?”

“Perhaps,” said the white priest, his nose guard pointing upward slightly in a condescending gesture. “The acts of Primus are not always large ones. That is why, given Smokescreen’s statement, we will decide if this was the act of a traitor or not.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Smokescreen, his optics shifting between the two parties quickly. “Did you just called Bumblebee a Con? Come on! He killed Megatron! How can he be a Con?”

Gear Strip grunted at that, smirking wickedly, “Well, you know Cons. Always backstabbing. He could have just wanted Megatron out of the picture so he could rise to power. For all we know … He pushed Optimus Prime down the Well.”

Something snapped in Smokescreen. He wasn’t one to give into his temper, he barely had one, but to say Bumblebee pushed Optimus Prime. That was just … _just_ –

Smokescreen was grabbed from the air the moment he jumped forward to beat that yellow-opticed officer’s helm in. He spat static and grappled with Ultra Magnus' grip the whole time as he was slowly pulled back, but in the end, Ultra Magnus managed to push Smokescreen behind himself. He then continued to hold onto the seething young-mech with a steel grip as Smokescreen tried to gather himself, EM field rippling in rage.

No one that knew Bee would stand for that statement. Bee … Bee loved Optimus. He looked up at him like a Master or a Caretaker. Optimus was probably the closest thing he had had to one in the war.

“You know that is incorrect,” finally stated Magnus, shoulders held high and proud as he slowly let go of the speedster. “As I am sure you are aware, since it is for public access, the last words of Optimus Prime were recorded for Cybertronian prosperity as well as his descent into the Well. It was taken directly from Ratchet’s HUB.”

Magnus’ next words almost sounded like a threat, EM field spreading over the room and nearly drowning everyone else with feelings of shame. “You disrespect Optimus Prime and his last selfless act by claiming otherwise.”

The silence that followed was deafening, even the investigators around the room had stalled to watch, intakes slightly agape. It was finally Forthright, as usually, that interrupted the silence … though, quite awkwardly.

“Ah, yes, yes, that is quite right Ultra Magnus. Selflessness …” said the smaller mech, his usual presence trying to regain itself. “But, as I was saying, Smokescreen. Can you please give us a statement? What you say now will be very important.”

It did not go unnoticed how the white mech turned and looked at Gear Strip as if saying, ‘It’s either him or me.’ What kind of options were those?! They were both terrible. One wanted to hide Bee away with that creepy Matrix and the other wanted to label the scout a Con. It … this wasn’t fair!

Optics begging, he looked up at Magnus. The large mech shared his gaze before slowly stepping back, revealing Smokescreen completely to his two terrible options. It hurt and it stung, especially when Ultra Magnus said far too softly, “It is best to speak truthfully Smokescreen. We will uncover the facts in the end.”

Yeah, but what was the truth? He didn’t even know! He had just been so worried about his own fate that he had no idea what was entirely going on with Bumblebee. He was a terrible friend. How could he do that? And yet … and yet … how could he say nothing?

Swallowing, having to reset his vocalizer at least twice, Smokescreen’s hands tightened into fists at his side. “W-where should I start?”

Waving his hand, the priest smiled surprisingly encouragingly. “Recently … like if there has been any strange behavior.”

Swallowing again, his glossa feeling like it was completely made of lead, the young mech tripped over his words. “I … I don’t … well. I suppose. Well, I guess he’s been normal. I haven’t noticed anything strange … except for … for recently.”

“How recently,” interrupted the private officer, his yellow optics seeming to pry into Smokescreen’s very spark casing.

“Like … since he was struck by the Matrix,” said Smokescreen carefully. “He … I had to remove all the mirrored surfaces because … he kept seeing things.”

The tension was palpable, especially since Forthright seemed to have drawn closer, drinking in each word like a thirsty traveler. “Like what?”

“Like … Optimus. He kept seeing Optimus Prime. He said Optimus … wanted something, but Bee couldn’t figure it out. He never said anything about wanting to go to Earth or anything, but Optimus always said there was something special about that planet,” finished Smokescreen, feeling like he had just woke Unicron from his sleep.

“Thank you, Smokescreen. This is invaluable information,” said Forthright as he turned to the private officer, chassis puffing up slightly. “You heard the young mech. When we get Bumblebee back, he is to be handed to the Priests first and not the stockades. He is ours now.”

Smokescreen, stepping forward, couldn’t help but ask, “But what about a trial? Proving the truth?”

Forthright, stalling, turned slightly with an expression of bafflement. “Truth? Like I said, he is to be handed to the Priests of Primus. A _Listener_ doesn’t speak to _anyone_ but the Matrix and the next Prime. There isn’t going to be a trail.”

Watching Forthright walk away as Ironhide offered a sad nod goodbye, Smokescreen felt like he had just doomed Bumblebee’s future.

“What have I done?” whispered Smokescreen to himself as the officer and the Prime’s Guard bickered about who they were going to send after the ex-scout.

Ultra Magnus, placing a hand slowly on the shorter mech’s shoulder, simply added, “You told the truth, Smokescreen, but sometimes it isn’t enough. Sometimes we have to provide facts… We best get going.”

“Going?” asked Smokescreen. “Where?”

“Where else … to Earth.”

Smokescreen, stuck in place, didn’t know if he should be amazed that Ultra Magnus was knowingly going break a rule by going or that he hadn’t had to beg for help. In the end, he found himself tripping after the larger mech, leaving his apartment in shambles.

To be honest with himself … at least Earth was nowhere near the Matrix. He swore that think was haunting his recharge cycle more and more recently, and he just wanted to get away. 

…

“I can’t believe his nerve! Just leaving you here like an unwanted puppy. Who does that? He should have at least done the proper thing and put you in a sack and threw you in the river,” griped Knock Out as he wandered back and forth while he packed things, spitting curses in Ultra Magnus’ name.

Silver Shield, not used to such an abrasive arrogance, sat meekly on his medical berth, a cord hooked into his helm as he slowly downloaded a data disk. He looked like a big dog trying to shrink in on himself. He really didn’t know how to deal with this, especially when it was so negatively directed towards Ultra Magnus. Magnus was kind to him and always proper. Why would anyone say something bad about him?

Nonetheless, just like Magnus was slowly teaching him, it was wrong to do nothing when injustice was afoot.

“You … are wrong,” said the bulky mech, puffing up his plating. “Ultra Magnus didn’t leave me. He is too admirable and righteous for such a thing.”

Knock Out, stalling in his rant, gave the young spark a look, “Admirable? Righteous? Maybe I should have waited to upload the language patch.”

Silver Shield looked insulted for a moment, but before the red medic could say anything further, there was the roar of a heavy engine pulling up to the door of the makeshift clinic. A blue form stepped through the door a nano-click later, followed by a shorter mech. “Knock Out. Where is your ship? We have to leave.”

“Well, that’s a fine how do you do? First thing out of your mouth is: _Where’s your ship Knock Out?_ After all this time, you can’t say something more worthwhile like: _where is the child I abandoned you to raise all alone without even paying child support?_ ” said the medic sarcastically as he walked over to said abandoned child, plugging something that looked like a smaller cinder into the berth.

Silver Shield twitched as the data disk on driving basics blasted the back of his CPU. He could technically drive after a few verbal lessons from Magnus, but it didn’t beat a data disk. It was also part of the reason Magnus had asked for him to stay. He wanted to get to Bumblebee’s location in a hurry. 

Ultra Magnus, meanwhile, was confused. “I beg your pardon? I was gone for half an orn, Knock Out. What child did I abandon?”

Knock Out stepped away from the berth and the young spark that was twitching in a slight data overload. He crossed his arms over his chassis and gave the taller mech a bored look. “Sarcasm is wasted on you, Maggie. Now, what space adventure are we going on today and why should I allow you to use my ship for it?”

Smokescreen beat Magnus to the punch, waving his arms animatedly as he went through his version of what had happened that day. Knock Out rather doubted the secret police ninjaed their way into the suite, but he could honestly see a Priest of Primus licking a mirror Bee had had a vision through. Nonetheless, Magnus wrapped everything up into a neat boring little package, stating simply, “Remember you owe me a favor.”

Knock Out groaned at the reminder. All Cons were supposed to have a trial when they came back to Cybertron, even the Ex ones. After much whining about _What would Optimus Do?_ Magnus had relented and made his trial private. Truthfully, Knock Out had even managed to weasel out of that as well with the mech that had been assigned the task, but Magnus didn’t need to know that.

Sighing exuberantly, Knock Out threw his hands up into the air. “Really? Are you going to extort the medic? Well, I guess such a horrible trip will give me more time to upload the basic data disks and maintenance for the turbo-puppy anyway.”

Magnus looked aghast at the suggestion as if the red medic was trying to convince him to kidnap the young war model.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Really, Maggie? You didn’t think you were taking your silver mini-me with you? If you had stayed a while longer I would have told you about the spark scan. He’s already imprinting onto your EM field. Trying to press him onto someone else at this time could damage his ability to communicate via EM fields,” said Knock Out nonchalantly while Magnus almost tripped over himself in surprise.

“Wait. I thought … I’ve had him nowhere near long enough for him to imprint for an apprenticeship,” said Magnus, going a little stiff. He had never undertaken an apprentice before. He just … He knew he wasn’t a very warm mech and that his rules could be a bit overbearing for a young mind. He had honestly never planned on having an apprentice.

“It doesn’t work that way, Maggie. He’s basically yours now,” said Knock Out as he walked over to a storage crate, immediately placing high grade in his private subspace. “Congratulations, you now have a puppy. Remember to feed it and clean up after it and whap it on the nose when it pees on the floor.”

Ultra Magnus did not look amused at the statement.

Silver Shield looked horrified as he hid his nose from sight.

And Smokescreen would have found it funny on a normal day … if he didn’t have a bro to save.

“Okay, we’ll take the new kid,” said Smokescreen becoming impatient, “but are you going to help us or not? We have to save Bumblebee from those … those … freaks.”

Leaning against the crate he had been rummaging through, lip pouting like he was thinking about it, Knock Out finally shrugged. “Well, I suppose. I would like to see the newer car models I’ve missed these last few years away from Earth … Just let me pack a few more things … for the horrible road trip.”

The two ex-soldiers then watched in stunned awe as Knock Out packed even more high grade away.

“I sure hope he’s not driving the ship,” whispered Smokescreen out of the side of his mouth while Magnus nodded in agreement. Silver Shield … just looked confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, the more and more I write Silver Shield, the more and more I imagine him being like Alphonse Elric from Fullmetal Alchemist. As for Knock Out … he’s probably going to hate this road trip. Also, I don’t know how Knock Out made himself a main staple in this story, but he’s here now. He was supposed to have like one scene. Well, he always was good about stealing some limelight.  
> Also, Magnus here’s your free child-I mean puppy. Enjoy the fluff. XD


	6. A Peaceful Island

Life here was … separate. It was as if the rest of the world really couldn’t touch them if they didn’t want it to. They still hadn’t fixed the Griffin Rock Express. Most of the citizens didn’t seem to care at this point. They liked being physically and figuratively an island. Yet, Rafael Jorge Gonzales "Raf" Esquivel wouldn’t call the island outdated or out of touch in a technology sense. For he had moved to the island to work in the same labs as the famed Dr. Ezra "Doc" Greene and his growing team.

No, Griffin Rock wasn’t just an island. Raf called it _home_.

It still surprised Raf that he had ended up here. After college, Raf had been waiting. Waiting for an old friend that towered over him like a yellow water tower, but Bumblebee never came back. In fact, the space bridges themselves were closed and all the metallic beings he had called friends disappeared as if they had never been. Yes, Arcee had put up a fight for the space bridge connection to remain open, but in the end, even her fierce loyalty could not withstand the drive of Cybertron’s early forming government and their fear of Earth.

Raf was sure it was the dark energon or perhaps the memory of Megatron that the fledgling government had feared. It could also be something as simple as the majority of Cybertronians were afraid of organics. Stupid, he knew, but he still dwelled on it. Alas, it was something he likely would never get a full answer to. Not even the Rescue Bots knew … and quite personally Raf didn’t want them reaching out and asking. For some reason, he felt that Ultra Magnus had kept them a secret and left them on Earth. For all Raf knew, they weren’t supposed to be here.

Ultra Magnus was many things, a rule stickler for sure, but he had loved Optimus like a brother. It wouldn’t surprise him if the large mech hadn’t said anything so the bots could continue to live out one of Optimus Prime’s last directives: live with the humans.

And live they did.

The Rescue Bots were citizens on Griffin Rock. Heroes in every way. Raf still wondered if it had been a coincidence that he had ended up on the island along with Jack of all people. Yes, Bee had mentioned Blades and Heatwave in passing, but Raf had thought they were old war buddies, lost and gone to the stars. He understood now why Bee hadn’t said much. The Rescue Bots were like an endangered species and in a time of war … it was best to leave such things alone so that they can survive.

Nonetheless, he still felt it was fate or Optimus’ wandering spirit that had helped him happen upon Griffin Rock. It was an island of inventors, all budding with new ideas, and yet yearning for a nice community. Raf had come from a large family. He valued such ideals. He still couldn’t believe he had happened upon more Cybertronians … if only on accident.

True, the Rescue Bots were paired with the Burns family, he would never have the same connection with them like had with Bumblebee all those years ago, but the bots kept the island entertaining, to say the least. So, it was almost as good as the bunker with Miko and the others causing chaos in all manners. It was almost the same … If Miko would ever settle down that is. Jack’s patience seemed unwavering, though.

But that … was an entirely different can of worms.

“Will you look at this? I’m getting a rather strange reading,” said Doc interrupting Raf’s thoughts as the graying man tilted his half-moon glasses at the screen.

Raf smiled in a good-natured way and came up next to the scientist. Personally, he wondered if he should just dial the Rescue Bots number now or five minutes from now. Usually, when Doc said something strange was going on, everyone in the town would either end up as giant mechs that couldn’t walk on their robo-heels or the Rescue Bots would become a giant combiner robot … again. No one, not even the bots, yet understood how that worked.

Honestly, some people wondered if a trickster god inhabited the island. Raf wouldn’t have been surprised if that were true. Miko had even joked about setting up a shrine for it next time she visited. 

Regardless, Raf’s good-humored smile became grim. He would know those symbols anywhere, that signal especially. The words escaped him before he even knew what to say, “That’s a Cybertronian distress signal … and if I am reading this right. It’s a Cybertronian prison ship.”

Eye’s going wide behind his half-moon glasses, all Doc could say was, “Oh my … I figured it had been too long since our last island wide catastrophe.”

Raf couldn’t help but agree, part of him wondering if Miko was right about the island having its very own trickster god. Things certainly tried to crush everyone often enough.

…

Across the island, Blades was cataloging and observing birds on the island. It wasn’t something he had done before, but he would probably find himself doing again. It wasn’t that he had an interest in the native species in the way someone like Boulder would. He merely wished to catalog the native birds for the next Lad Pioneer meeting. In truth, he was more a team leader at this point, his hologram having to grow up, but so was the passage of time on Earth. And, though, it saddened him to see things age and pass at a rate too quick befitting their beauty and complexity, he would also admit that that was probably part of Earth’s charm.

Earth was beautiful because of its fleetingness. A piece of art that could only be glimpsed and held for a moment before it was gone.

Such thoughts scared him, especially when he thought of any of the Burns and the passage of time.

Wiping his optics, trying to press off such thoughts for, as Chief had once told the bots when none of the kids were around, “ _What is given must be given back so something new can take its place.”_

They all knew Chief was talking about himself as age started to show more and more in his skin and the speed of his movements, but all the Rescue Bots agreed … they would never want to leave. They would never take back any of these moments, sorrow or happiness, for this was their home for better or worse. Cybertron just couldn’t compare anymore.

In fact, it was almost unspoken, but none of them ever wanted to return to their home world, especially with some of the rumors coming from Cybertron. It was not the world Optimus had offlined for. Some … infection … had seemed to have taken root. And, if not for Earth and the humans struggle for equality and multi-skilled mindset, they might not have noticed the rifts forming on their renewed home world.

Heatwave wanted to do something, to be brave and vibrant as the Prime that had commanded that they learn from the humans, and yet … none of them could see themselves leaving their Earthly partners. Chase was still breaking in his new partner and deputy, Jack Darby. Chief had retired. Heatwave, meanwhile, just couldn’t stop fussing over Kade’s little girl (as much as he didn’t want to admit it). And Dani had recently found out she was once again expecting. So, the thought of missing even a few years with the Burns was too much to bear.

As far as they were all silently concerned, Cybertron wasn’t their home anymore. Besides, the last Prime had commanded that they stay here … and stay here they would until some other destiny called them away.

Swallowing a small sting of sadness when it came to Cybertron, Blades forced a smile as he finished taking pictures with his interior hub. Done. A fine catalog if he did say so himself. His new pioneers would love it. Now, to get back for his shift before Heatwave …

Suddenly, there was a roar, like collapsing earth. The bot immediately looked to the cliffs not far off, expecting them to start crumbling as things always seemed to on Griffin Rock. It was as if there was a trickster god trapped upon the island’s shores with how often things went wrong. Or so it was rumored. Instead, the earth was still … but something blazed overhead like a meteorite instead.

No. Meteorite wasn’t quite right … it was more like a crashing ship!

Optics going wide, the birds all scattering and seemingly taking their freedom with them, Blades felt a moment of foreboding. He knew that type of metal anywhere. Its gleam and notable durability. It was Cybertronian in origin.

With wide optics, he watched it splinter up in the hemisphere, balls of fire and molten steel falling to the earth. It was beautiful, a dancing blaze in the falling evening, but all Blades could think was that somemech was falling.

Somemech was falling and would likely not survive.

He was to the air, his rotors humming, as he followed the nearest blaze. It seemed to fall forever and he had no way of catching it. When it finally crashed into the shore, it was an explosion of sand and shallow waters. Its searing heat sending up steam and waves that ran from the heat of it. Blades was barely hovering over the crash site when none other than Heatwave came roaring around the bend in the island, his secondary form throwing up waves.

It seemed that Blades wasn’t the only one to notice the interruption to their peaceful island.

…

“Pfff, I don’t get it! Why don’t we get to search the crash site as well?! Huh? They say they trust me, that I am a Rescue Bot, but then they won’t even allow me to dig through some space junk?” grumbled Blurr as they drove their rounds, Blurr’s digital head looking up at Cody expectantly in his cab.

Cody seemed dazed as if he hadn’t heard his partner.

“Hello, earth to Cody? You have your thinking cap on?”

Cody, staring at his hands on the wheel (Chase had kind of nagged the habit into him whenever he would run rounds with the older bot), finally snapped out of it, “Huh, what? Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“About what? If officer stick-up-his-trunk is going to let us go to the next race on the mainland?” grumbled Blurr. He still didn’t know why he had agreed to become Chase’s deputy (it probably had something to do with the town's need for a second officer), but at least he had learned to change his color nanites at will. He cringed at the thought of being black and white all the time. Nonetheless, he bore the colors in silent agony if only for Cody and his life choices. Cody had taken after Chief. Though, honestly, his life choice probably had something to do with his hero worship toward one Jack Darby as well.

Jack had taken up Chief’s mantel as Chase’s partner. There was just something about Darby … like he had been spiritually touched by the Prime before he left. There was just this … air … about him. It was supernatural and just uncanny at times.

Nonetheless, that didn’t seem to be Cody’s concern right now. “No, no. It’s just … the other bots seemed nervous, like … they were worried. It was like they didn’t want other Cybertronians here.”

Blurr, braking at a stop sign at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere (just like Chase was always nagging him to), hummed, “Yeah … I could see that. What if it is a Con?”

“Maybe, but I didn’t get that _fight_ vibe off of them. What I mean is, even before they started digging up the wreck from the waters, it’s like … they weren’t excited that it was another Cybertronian ship. It’s like they don’t want anybot else here,” finished Cody, bewildered.  

Blurr, idling at the stop sign, turned his tires in a nervous manner. The older Rescue Bots … had been keeping it from the humans, for the main part, but they knew things were not quite right on Cybertron … especially since Quickshadow had yet to return. They didn’t know all the details, but something was wrong with their homeworld. Why else would Cybertron close the space bridge and Heatwave forbid anyone from telling anybot where they were?

Sitting there, trying to think of something to say to his partner in crime (though, Chase hated that phrase and demanded Blurr call in partners in _justice_ ) he couldn’t help but notice that Cody’s head had swung towards the woods, his grip tightening on the wheel while his heart race increased. Quickly, he turned his sensors towards the woods to see what the fuss was about … and he felt his spark skip.

A set of red optics and one set of blue stared at them.

It had to be a Con with those red optics.

Frag that trickster god.

Blurr, unable to stop himself, transformed in a squeal of gears as he aimed a stunner at the other bot in the woods. He even squealed in shock like a girly-bot. Said bot and the blue optics on his shoulder screamed as well. And so, the human in the cockpit, Blurr, the red-opticed Con and what had to be a minicon on his shoulder, all screamed at each other … until Blurr’s systems were finally able to make his fingers twitch, his energon stun gun hitting the Con right in the midsection.

The strange bot went down with a huff and twist of metal, taking a tree or two in his fall. The minicon, a silver little thing on the black Con’s shoulder, was knocked off and into the grass … and boy was it angry. The minicon, when it gained its feet, was a twitchy mass of long limbs. It screeched in rage and ran forward, latching onto Blurr’s leg like a pest as it crawled up Blurr’s leg. It cursed up a storm the whole way up as Blurr screamed and shook his leg wildly.

Cody, meanwhile, could only gape, eyes wide as he held on for dear life inside his partner’s cab. Blurr was turning around and around like an amusement park ride as he tried to dislodge his attacker. Cody didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse when the little Con (for no Autobot cursed like that; Cody never did tell dad which bot he learned Cybertronian curse words from but mech’s their name rhymed with Lie Bride) pulled open the driver’s door and threw him to the ground, grabbing Blurr’s wheel with a jerk.

The speedster screamed, falling backward as the chatterbox crawled into his cab and started pushing buttons while pulling at the dash. The little Con’s words were enraged. The minicon was so hyped-up it was hard to make out his words, but Cody was sure he heard correctly, “How dare you t-t-touch my y-young spark!”

Sitting there, covered in grass and twigs, Cody tried to comprehend what was going on. The bots didn’t go very deep into all aspects of their culture, but Cody knew this term _young spark_. High Tide called the Rescue Bots young sparks all the time, compared to him. Children, if you will.

Immediately, Cody felt a dread rise in his heart. Had … had they accidently hurt a child? Yes, the black bot was a little bulkier and taller than Blurr, but Cybertronians came in all shapes and sizes. He couldn’t live with himself if they had hurt a kid.

Metal or not.

Rising to his feet, pulling his flashlight from his belt, Cody turned the beam towards the dark metal in woods. His heart skipped a beat when he immediately noticed that the mech was curled into himself, like a child expecting to be kicked. Said newcomer was also shaking like a leaf. And, though, it just felt like static electricity to a human, Cody knew the bulky mech was giving off an EM field of some kind … likely terror. The Burns nearly took a step back when those red optics turned to him: terrified.

Cody didn’t even get to open his mouth when the new-bot was crawling backward as if slapped, whining in heavily metallic words, “Please … don’t … hurts … us … Frenzy … help … please.”

The words were broken, like a child that barely knew how to speak, and immediately Cody knew that they were at fault. They had shot first. This bot, as bulky and sharp-featured as he was, hadn’t made any move to attack them despite his red optics.

Swallowing, ignoring Blurr’s cursing banter as he had his aft slowly handed to him by a four-foot-tall minicon, Cody put up his hands, words soft as if dealing with an injured animal. The bulky newcomer obviously wanted to run, but he kept looking at the small minicon like he was too terrified to leave alone.

“Hey, hey,” said Cody, trying to gain the Cybertronian’s attention. “Don’t run. Don’t run … we … we didn’t mean to hurt you. Just … don’t run.”

The bulky black mech, curling a little more into himself when he noticed Cody was looking directly at him, whined, “You … lie … Autobots … always … hurt … us.”

That … was like a punch to the stomach, and yet, Cody found himself stepping forward, knowing that he had to help any bots that came to Griffin Rock. “No. No. We won’t hurt you. We are Rescue Bots. You … just scared us. Blurr didn’t mean to shoot you. You’re … not hurt, are you?”

The black bot wrapped an arm around his midsection, cringing inward.

So, that was a yes.

Cody, ignoring Blurr’s grunts in the background as he tried to dislodge the little menace who was in his cab, took another step forward. “Sorry, about that. Here. Let me look at it. The bots taught all of us Burns basic Cybertronian first aid.”

The red-opticed mech blinked at him as if he was struggling just to understand. His words were heavy and almost a slur, “No … hurt.”

Cody shook his head, carefully coming forward as if freeing a bear from a trap. “No, no. We are Rescue Bots. We help all that we can.”

“… Oh … okay,” said the poor thing, uncurling slightly as Cody gently put a hand on its leg. Just like a child, the black mech was immediately trusting.

Smiling, trying not to twitch as he stared at the purple, almost hastily painted Decepticon symbol on the young spark’s shoulder, Cody added, “Great … but … could you please ask your friend to stop mauling my friend’s interior. We just had that detailed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves. Been a while. My new job is just kind of … sucking out my soul … Yeah, that sounds about right. Perhaps that’s a sign. XD
> 
> Anyway, I am taking some creative license with the timeline here. After watching episodes like Need for Speed I have a feeling the passage of time was more like 2-3 years from the end of the Transformers Prime series more so than my head cannon of at least 10 years. But, given I wanted Cybertron to have a little more growth time as well as Raf and Jack, I decided that it’s been around 10 years since Transformers Prime in this fic. 
> 
> Also, finally! I get to show off my headcanon of what happened with the Transformer’s Prime kids. Miko … is still kind of up in the air, but I see Griffin Rock as a cartoon version of Eureka (Scifi series from 2006-2012) so it’s a perfect fit for Raf especially. 
> 
> Also, any guesses on who the black mech is? He’s one of my all-time favorites … though, he’s obviously been revamped for this fic.


	7. Cycles

_Beep_. Slap!

“Owww.”

… _Beep_. Slappp!

“Owwww.”

 _Beep_. _Beep_. Slappp!

“Owwww.”

Heatwave sighed and covered his face. He didn’t even have to try and glance into the human’s kitchen to know what was going on. It was amazing that even after nearly ten years … how little Kade had changed when it came to stuffing his face. He could basically feel the human’s finger slowly making its way back to the microwave button. Did there really have to be a repeat of the toaster incident? Said incident caused the minicon to jump onto Kade’s head and screeched like a disturbed mamma bird before crawling into the oven. Heatwave quickly called up into the kitchen, “Kade, leave the angry minicon alone. I don’t want to hear you bitching about how it messed up your hair again and bruised your pride.”

Kade, about to poke the microwave again, whined, “But I’m hungry and I don’t know what it did with the real microwave … or the toaster … or the blender. Hey, where is it taking all the original kitchenware anyway?”

“It’s likely in the oven, Kade. His safe place if you will. Minicons, when looking for camouflage, are known to hide the items they are trying to blend in as. Usually, the items are in a type of nesting area until they find the perfect alt mode,” said Boulder from down in the bunker, the bulky mech smiling at the war model he and Blades were working on. The wounds were mostly superficial, though, with a stun gun there shouldn’t have been a physical wound at all.

After persuading the young war model to follow them home, they found out his name was Barricade and his mean little partner was Frenzy. Truthfully, Barricade wasn’t that big for a war model, but he had multiple engines in his form. He had thick shoulders for ramming and swift legs. He was obviously fast, but he also had supporting systems in his arms that could allow him to physically crush someone. He was dangerous in his own right.

But, welding plates back into place, Boulder didn’t see a potentially powerful small-class war model. All Boulder and the others saw was a young spark that had been all but abandoned. His meta-flesh was so thin it was almost transparent under his armor plating and his communication programs were terribly underdeveloped. The only reason he probably could talk at all was because Frenzy had latched onto him as a partner.

As for the minicon … Frenzy had obviously been from the war. He knew the moment he saw all the Rescue Bots together what they were. He had cackled and asked if he was dead because Rescue Bots were supposed to be extinct.

Personally, none of the bots particularly trusted the deranged minicon. He obviously had been tortured in the war for information or lost his partner, scarring his mind and his spark in some way. He was terribly protective of Barricade, though, so most left the twitchy minicon be. He would probably calm down once he had an alt mode and felt his partner was safe.

Chief, finally coming into the kitchen, put down what looked like a radio. He had aged in the last ten years, but he still had this air of authority to him, his body still bulky from continued exercise and assisting his kids around the firehouse.

He smiled down at the microwave, knowing immediately what item the minicon had picked due to it being too clean. He loved Kade … but he would always be a kitchen slob. “Here. Why don’t you try this on for size? It’s much easier for a radio to blend in everywhere over a microwave oven.”

A stalky little eye transformed out of the oven, glared a Chief for a moment before transforming and poking at the radio as if expecting it to move. The graying man smiled encouragingly. Frenzy grumbled something, scanned the item and transformed into a sleeker version of the radio. He sat there a moment as if feeling it out before he jabbered and transformed, hopping down into the bunker. He immediately found a counter and transformed back into the radio as if picking the space only to watch the makeshift medic and engineer work on his young partner.

The minicon’s cover was blown, though, because he cackled every time Barricade, the young spark, would reach over and touch Chase’s armor. Barricade was obviously fascinated by the enforcer’s alt mode and color choice. Chase, commendably, never slapped the young spark’s powerful hands away. He merely plucked the slightly larger hand from whatever plating Barricade was investigating and calmly put it back down on the berth like a true professional.

Heatwave, feeling that a sense of calm had finally settled in the bunker now that the minicon (mean little fragger) had chosen an alt form, finally asked the question that was on every-mechs mind. “Frenzy, I have to ask, what is a young spark doing on a prison ship? Why isn’t he in a youngling care center with proper data disks … and fueling.”

Frenzy was still for a moment, before he hissed and transformed, hiding behind the human’s couch in the large room. His words echoed regardless. “He wasss … in a care center, but they don’t care about war modelss. No. No. No. They wanted to chip him with Con symbol. They wanted to track him everywhere he went and label him as a Con for his model type. They didn’t even give him communication pack or encourage him to pick a name. Frenzy had to teach him. They were going to make him dum-dum-dumb. Easier to control.”

There was a moment of silence behind the couch, Frenzy’s EM field trickling forward with just the smallest amounts of shame. “Frenzy … is ashamed. He told Barricade he deserved to eat like all the other young sparkss, that he should get the same data diskss as the other auto-bot modelsss … They called in violent … threw him in the ship … Frenzy had to go with him. Young spark is too young to be alone. Too young to be punished for what Frenzy felt was right.”

The minicon’s next words were like a stab to the spark. “I thought Cybertron would be a new world, to start over. It … is not. They punish for modelss and label all crimess, despite how pet-petty, as Decepticon.”

Boulder’s mouth was ajar; Blades looked horrified; Chase’s battle computer was obviously running high; and Heatwave’s hands were shaking in fists of rage. Personally, no one wanted to believe what the twitchy little Con was saying. Heatwave especially didn’t. He kind of wanted to kick the two off the planet.  It wasn’t until the minicon whispered his next request, that it was decided that the young spark would stay. No one would let them leave after.

“Please … let young spark stay. He is new to world and still kind. He is not really a Decepticon. Frenzy will promise to leave if you promise to take care of young spark. Rescue Bots were always kind in war. Always kind.”

…

Bumblebee twitched his tires and immediately looked at the nearest shiny item in the junk yard.

Nothing. There was no reflection of Optimus Prime staring back at him. Earlier today had been … surreal. Optimus had just appeared hours ago and saved everyone, like always, by just appearing. Even in death, the Prime had to save him like he hadn’t lived through a war. Bee had fought, bled and nearly died too many times to count. Even if this afternoon had just been a mass hallucination, Optimus had to save him … from a chompazoid no less.

Bee wanted to groan in embarrassment, he had nearly been defeated by a _chompazoid_ , when he had taken blow for blow with Megatron’s main mechs. Yes, his internal weaponry had been removed, he wasn’t a war model after all and his spark wasn’t strong enough to continually support those systems, but … had he always been so weak? So, helpless?

The yellow bot sighed and sank on his tires. He looked back over at the two young-sparks, Strongarm and Sideswipe, his unwanted charges who were recharging in their alt modes. Frag, they were basically new sparks. They weren’t even a vorn old for Primus’ sake. He was responsible for them and look what happened? They got dragged through a spacebridge and nearly killed by some idiot Decepticon.

And the dinobot, Grimlock? Where did that even come from? He was just blindsided by his … neutrality. Grimlock just wanted to fight, yet it wasn’t malicious. It was like a game to him. How long had Grimlock been in that tube, trapped away in time? Vorns before the war even picked up, he’d wager, protected from the worst of the war. Frag, was Grimlock even an adult? He didn’t need three teenagers to spark-sit.  

Tuh, not that he was much of an adult himself.

Nonetheless, Bee shifted his wheels again, listening to the gravel crunch below his tires. He looked in the direction Fixit was in, the ruins of his ship. The small bot was still trying to figure out what had crashed it. Luckily, the ruined ship could now be a command center of sorts. Honestly, there was barely even a full computer there, it certainly had no medical equipment to check something like spark-age or mental maturity, but at least they had something.

The scout sighed again at the thought of being Earth-bound. They couldn’t even make a call out and just how had he gotten them all into this?

No, correction.

What had Optimus gotten them into? He didn’t know if the Prime was trying to lead the way or what. He just followed. Yet, when he finally followed the signs, the whispers of where he had to be, Optimus’ ghost merely stood there, silent.

Luckily, the chompazoid just froze up at the sight of a near corporeal Prime allowing the Autobots to stumble into a victory. Yet, before Bee could touch Optimus, grab for him, beg for answers to this growing madness in his helm and the voices seeming to form there, the Prime was gone. Like a mirage.

At least … the young-sparks and the humans had seemed to have seen him as well. If they hadn’t, Bee honestly didn’t know what he would have done. Break down into a sobbing fit most likely. But, Optimus was here. Here on Earth. Here … waiting for something.

Bee didn’t know what it was … but for some reason, Earth was important, and just like Bee: what needed to be here would come. It would come to Earth regardless of its choosing. He just had to wait for it.

…

“Ouch.”

Beep. _Slap_.

“Owww.”

Beedy-boop. …

“Oooowch!”

Knock Out sighed as the young spark, despite having his hand slapped away multiple times, still wanted to push buttons in the co-pilot's seat. The medic had even kicked him out of said seat at least four times since this horrible road trip had begun. Silver Shield was like the dumbest robo-puppy in the world. Really, why didn’t Magnus take the little ball of intrigue with him to recharge? Didn’t kids need naps or something?

Then again, Magnus probably abandoned him in the cockpit because he needed to recharge. Mostly because Silver Shield, now that he had the right words to ask the right questions, was in that never ending question phase. Why this? Why that? Why-why-why-why?! Here’s a better question … why hadn’t Knock Out pushed the young twerp out of an air-lock yet?

Silver Shield pouted at him, those big optics drinking everything in as he rubbed his hand.

Okay, Knock Out would admit it, the kid was kind of adorable.

“Just stop touching buttons. The ship could explode or implode … or take us somewhere more horrible than Earth,” grumbled the medic.

“Earth is horrible?” asked the young spark, putting his hands down even though he stared at the blinking buttons wantonly. “Then, why are we going?”

Great, another question.

Knock Out huffed and glared at the endless stars before them. Why were they going? What was the point? There was nothing on Earth. Not really. Just decaying memories. Even if they went and rescued Bumble-twerp, what then? Were they all going to run to the stars. Hey, here’s an idea. Maybe they would even see Megatron and ask him to be their co-captain. Yeah, that sounded like a _great_ idea. They’d probably be eaten by spark-eaters in a week.

And yet, the medic’s thoughts returned to Earth. The young spark was still waiting for an answer.

“Earth … always felt like a means to an end. I don’t know how else to explain it. There is just … it's always changing there. Seasons, weather, birth … death. Death is swift there and continuous. And it was like, being there, we got sucked into its cycle as well,” said Knock Out, his voice going soft. He could not say his name, but to deny it was to act like he had never existed.

“Breakdown, Dreadwing, Skyquake, Soundwave ... Megatron. I even wonder if perhaps a part of Optimus Prime offlined there as well. I mean, they were all left there. An end so far from home. Can … their sparks even return to the well? Or does Unicron claim them as his own?” said Knock Out, his voice almost catching.

Frag, what was wrong with him? Was he going to pour his spark out to a young spark that probably didn’t even have a concept of death … or loneliness. And yet, for the first time, Knock Out fully grasped these feelings. He was alone. His oldest friend and partner in crime was gone. Breakdown and him had almost made it to the end. Almost made it out of this war together.

But now he was alone.

Knock Out had tortured Silas afterward because it was all he had. It had been the only revenge he had been allowed, but he wasn’t being watched anymore. Megatron wasn’t here nor any of his officers. Besides, the high grade wasn’t helping. Could he finally mourn? Could he weep until his EM field was a trembling mess and his vents wouldn’t shutter correctly?

Did he no longer have to hold it in?

Beside himself, Knock Out’s EM field flared like he had been stabbed. He then felt a sob, his vents hitch. No, no. Not here in front of the young spark, but where else could he go? The small living quarters? He didn’t need Magnus and Smokey seeing him like this, but he couldn’t hold this in anymore.

Breakdown had been his strength, his power and apparently, his composure. And so, the Aston Martin covered his mouth, feeling a sob rise in his throat like a thick tar as his optics dimmed, his plating pulling painfully tight. Frag. This was happening. This was going to happen.

His voice … refused to hold in his sobs. “I-I … don’tt know if I can go-go back. I-I don’t know if I can say g-goodbye to B-breakdown. I … don’t want to say g-goodbye.”

Knock Out … didn’t bother holding back after that. Frag, he was pathetic. Nonetheless, those words released a long-forgotten dam of pain and regret.  So, the medic allowed himself to fall apart. He allowed himself to crumble in that small cockpit. He allowed himself to choke on his growing sobs as his plating fluttered uncontrollably. He didn’t have to be a big bad Decepticon here in the dark nothingness of space.

Primus. He had never felt so entirely alone. And what the frag brought this on? Perhaps it was because the young spark kind of smiled like Breakdown and filled the co-pilot’s seat just right. Maybe it was just because it was just time to let go and confront Earth.

“I h-hate that place … I always h-hate the end.”

The young spark, so young to the world, could only watch as Knock Out crumbled. He wasn’t sure what to do or how to comfort the devastated medic. He just knew that he wanted to do something. He wanted to be good like Magnus had been to him. And so, he abandoned his chair and knelt before Knock Out. His arms were uncertain, his fingers shy, his field confused and beaten back by Knock Out’s stronger pulse, but he did his best to offer comfort. It was clumsy and awkward at first, that huge frame slowly wrapping around the usually charming medic, but Silver Shield slowly settled around Knock out like a comfortable blanket.

Knock Out had wanted to push the young fool away, to snap and yell that this was none of his business, but he couldn’t. He wanted Breakdown back … and this currently was the next best thing he had. So, he wrapped his arms around the larger frame and wept unperturbed onto that large shoulder. He seemed a child compared to that large war model, but Silver Shield did not judge him nor call him illogical. He merely returned the desperate embrace, wrapping his arms around the entire pilot’s chair. He didn’t tell Knock out everything would be alright. He didn’t even know how to tweek Knock Out’s shuddering EM field in order to calm it down. Silver Shield didn’t know any of these things and yet he sat there with him if only to be a reminder … that Knock Out was not alone.

Knock Out … felt he couldn’t have asked for more from the bulky young spark. He just needed something to hang onto. He just needed to hang on.

And so … from the door, in the shadows, Smokescreen listened and watched. He watched a young spark try to offer comfort for a type of sorrow he would never know. He … was unable to look away. Here was a broken medic, unable to fix himself for he could not see his own scars, facing his fears. His ghosts. The end. Perhaps … he should as well? Perhaps he should return to Earth, to the dirt where he had almost become a Prime. Perhaps, he should even thank Optimus for carrying on even though he had been so ready to die. Perhaps, Optimus had even died there in some way like Knock Out said.

Should beg his forgiveness?

Then, maybe then, he could finally let it be the end. He could forget about almost being a Prime and finally allow something else to grow and be new.   

Earth was full of many ends … but, then again, an end always promised a beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update, but an update nonetheless. So, Optimus never physically saved the day in the first episodes. Optimus … is pretty much a creepy spirit. Yep. That’s going on … and Barricade and Frenzy! Any of my older readers know how I love to drag them into things … like almost every multi-chapter transformers fic I have ever written. Nonetheless, Barricade is adorable with his Chase fascination. :D
> 
> As for Knock Out baby, he needs huggles. I … want a picture of that adorably said hug with Silver Shield. I wants it. Uuugh, I wish I had time to draw things. >.>


End file.
